Lying Prophets | Page 8

with alarm in her face and voice.
He shook his head.
"No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only a stranger down here for a
day or two. I paint things sometimes for my own amusement, that's all."
"Pickshers?"
"They are not worth calling pictures. Just scraps of the sea and trees
and cliffs and sky, to while away the time and remind me of beautiful
things after I have left them."
"You ban't a artist ezacally, then?"
"Certainly not. Don't you like artists?"
"Faither don't. He'm a fisherman an' caan't abear many things as
happens in the world. An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to let
'em take my picksher, 'cause they've painted a good few maidens to
Newlyn; an' some of 'em wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an'
sez 'No!' short. Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to faither, same as they flags an'
cannels an' moosic to Newlyn church is vanity. Most purty things is
vanity, faither reckons."
"I'm sure he's a wise man. And I think he's right, especially about the
candles and flags in church. And now I must go on my walk. Let me
see, shall I bring you the little picture of Joe's ship here? I often walk
out this way."
He assumed she would take the picture, and now she feared to object.
Moreover, such a sketch would be precious in her eyes.
"Maybe 'tis troublin' of 'e, sir?"
"I've promised you. I always keep my word. I shall be here to-morrow
about mid-afternoon, because it is lonely and quiet and beautiful. I'm

going to try and paint the gorse, all blazing so brightly against the sky."
"Them prickly fuzz-bushes?"
"Yes; because they are very beautiful."
"But they'm everywheres. You might so well paint the bannel [Footnote:
Bannel--Broom.] or the yether on the moors, mightn't 'e?"
"They are beautiful, too. Remember, I shall have Joe's ship for you
to-morrow."
He nodded without smiling, and turned away until a point of the gorse
had hidden her from sight. Then he sat down, loaded his pipe, and
reflected.
"'Joe's ship,'" he said to himself, "a happy title enough."
And meantime the girl had looked after him with wonder and some
amusement in her eyes, had rubbed her chin reflectively--a habit caught
from her father--and had then scampered off smiling to herself.
"What a funny gent," she thought, "never laughs nor nothin'. An' I
judged he was a artist! But wonnerful kind, an' wonnerful queer, wi' it,
sure 'nough."
CHAPTER THREE
THE TREGENZAS
Joan Tregenza lived in a white cottage already mentioned: that standing
just beyond Newlyn upon a road above the sea. The cot was larger than
it appeared from the road and extended backward into an orchard of
plum and apple-trees. The kitchen which opened into this garden was
stone-paved, cool, comfortable, sweet at all times with the scent of
wood smoke, and frequently not innocent of varied fishy odors. But
Newlyn folk suck in a smell of fish with their mothers' milk. 'Tis part of
the atmosphere of home.

When Joan returned from her visit to Gorse Point, she found a
hard-faced woman, thin of figure, with untidy hair, wrinkled brow and
sharp features, engaged about a pile of washing in the garden at the
kitchen-door. Mrs. Tregenza heard the girl arrive, and spoke without
lifting her little gray eyes from the clothes. Her voice was hard and
high and discontented, like that of one who has long bawled into a deaf
man's ear and is weary of it.
"Drabbit you! Wheer you bin? Allus trapsing out when you'm wanted;
allus caddlin' round doin' nothin' when you ban't. I s'pose you think
breakfus' can be kep' on the table till dinner, washing-day or no?"
"I don't want no breakfus', then. I tuke some bread an' drippin' long
with me. Wheer's Tom to?"
"Gone to schule this half-hour. 'Tis nine o'clock an' past. Wheer you bin,
I sez? 'Tain't much in your way to rise afore me of a marnin'."
"Out through Mouzle to Gorse P'int to see Joe's ship pass by; an' I seen
en butivul."
"Thank the Lard he's gone. Now, I s'pose, theer'll be a bit peace in the
house, an' you'll bide home an' work. My fingers is to the bone day an'
night."
"He'll be gone a year purty nigh."
"Well, the harder you works, the quicker the time'll pass by. Theer's
nuthin' to grizzle at. Sea-farin' fellers must be away most times. But
he'm a good, straight man, an' you'm tokened to en, an' that's enough.
Bide cheerful an' get the water for washin'. If they things of faither's
bant dry come to-morrer, he'll knaw the reason why."
Joan accepted Mrs. Tregenza's comfort philosophically, though her
sweetheart's departure had not really caused her any emotion.